Posts from the ‘Brooklyn’ Category

Oct 7

Sapolo

Unlike Lulu and Po or Do or Dine, which I can't
technically claim as part of my new neighborhood (they're three and two blocks
outside the Clinton Hill borders, respectively) Sapolo firmly counts. In fact, it's
one of the first restaurants I noticed because it's kind of hard to miss. A
late night favorite with the patrons of Myrtle Avenue doormen clubs, Bamboo and
SoCo (ostensibly a restaurant) and mulleted Pratt students sipping cocktails
the color of jordan almonds, Sapolo also
represents a dying NYC breed, the sit-down Chinese-American restaurant.

And then they also serve "Spanish" food,
oh, and piña coladas in to-go cups. It's a lot to take in.

And to digest, portion-wise. Of course, you're first
brought wontons and duck sauce to nibble on while pondering the list of
cocktails ranging from the classic Singapore Sling to the notorious Nutcracker while
checking out your zodiac on the paper placemat.

Combos are designed for value with a big butte of
fried rice (with substantial chunks of chicken or roast pork) and classics like
the General Tso chicken pictured. This is not a poor representation of the genre
and easily a notch above corner takeout style. The brown sauce was not overly
corn-starched and gloppy and while it was sweet as one would expect, there was
actual spice. I was tempted to eat more than half the serving, which any sane
person would get wrapped up to go.

The eggroll comes on its own plate with a steak
knife.

Honestly, I'm not sure what you're supposed to order
at a restaurant like Sapolo. The clientele isn't Caribbean, the staff is all
Chinese, so it would seem safer to stick with lo mein and beef with broccoli than
fried plantains, paella and bistec empanizado. The window sign does tout pollo
a la brasa, though. And it just might be the biggest restaurant in the area, so I wouldn't call them liars.

Sapolo * 501 Myrtle Ave., Brooklyn, NY

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Oct 6

Do or Dine

I’m more excited about Bed-Stuy’s burgeoning dining
scene now that’s more in my physical frame of reference. (I make fun of
Williamsburgers who’ll never explore beyond their defined borders, but it’s not like I’m
going to check out a new Upper West/East Side restaurant unless it sounds
extremely amazing.) Sure, I’ve been to Celestino, Peaches HotHouse and drink
at Black Swan, but I’m not a neighborhood know-it-all.

It took me a while to get to Do or Dine. Yes, they have a menu with both small plates and snacks—does anyone understand
the distinction? Because of this, I assumed the stream of food would be willy nilly, plates
appearing when ready, the bigger items arriving last maybe. Instead, each course came
progressively like a tasting menu, a new dish showing up as the former was
being finished.

A serious cocktail (rye, averna, bitters) with a less-than-serious name, The Burt Reynolds, sets the tone. You could just as well have a cheap Rolling Rock (I had just been wondering whatever happened to this ’90s staple) as a stiff $12 beverage.

How could a first-timer not order the doughnut?
Everyone knows that the warm powdered-sugared dough is stuffed with foie gras.
I didn’t know, however, that the rich liver was paired with fruity (strawberry, I’m
guessing, raspberry, maybe) jelly. Split between two, the fried savory is a
perfectly reasonable starter–unless you’re one of those types who only takes one
bite of everything and acts like you’re overeating (or throws perfectly good cupcakes in the trash and sprinkles Comet on them).

The Leap Year Special is a snack for those who
consider frogs’ legs snackable. Sure, the flesh is mild and obviously white
meat, but I wouldn’t say that frog tastes like chicken, that’s just the nuggety
batter talking. The texture is most definitely different, wetter, less firm, I
guess, aquatic. The sauce was more peppery than sweet, despite the advertised
addition of Dr. Pepper. To me, that’s not so much a junk or stoner food touch,
but a Filipino bbq flourish.

The lamb breast is also a snack. The word fatty was
thrown in with the ingredient list, and being a prominent feature, I suppose
you could consider fat to be seasoning on par with the cumin. If you do not like
fat, you would probably not be eating at Do or Dine.

Chicken and Woffals is a liver-smeared crispy game
hen, atop a waffle. There is maple syrup, passionfruit something, cooked-down
spinach (the only greenery we ingested), all-in-all another fried, sweet-and-savory clash
that ends up delicious in spite of the rambunctiousness.

Do or Dine * 1108 Bedford Ave., Brooklyn, NY

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Oct 1

Eaten, Barely Blogged: Farewell to Carroll Gardens

HBH Gourmet Sandwiches. This is totally one of those
places that was new and talked-about and so ridiculously close to my apartment
that I could put off going for some time. It finally turned out to be that
time. (I did not get to Court Street Grocers, however–too many damn sandwiches in the neighborhood.) It's also totally one of those kinds of absolutely delicious (and kind of ugly when transported home and unwrapped) but caloric
sandwiches that makes you wonder why artisanal food gets a health halo–what do
you mean Shake Shack isn't good for you?–while other equally fatty food is disparaged. Quality ingredients, yes, I
know. This Smith St. cheesesteak, all tender short rib meat and taleggio on
cibatta, is nothing like a cheesesteak, so if you're craving shaved beef of
questionable quality and processed cheese, this will not satisfy.

Seersucker. I didn't grow up using the term townie,
which feels more east coast anyway. I didn't need to because Portland was
nothing but townies. I like the word, though, so I'm going to call the person
in my neighborhood who told me that Seersucker was expensive with tiny portions
even for her, a tiny person, a townie. I'd resisted for years, based on the
name alone (which I chalked up to being a crank until a non-cranky coworker who
lived on the block also hated it and was coming up with other deserving
fabrics–perhaps Gabardine? Oh, my, that's already been taken by a Top Chef in
San Diego). My duck with a succotash-ish bed of kernels at first did seem a little
precious, but was rich, and the Berkshire pork, fall-apart belly topped with
cracklings (and I swear there was a third pork component) was flat-out meaty. The
prices were fair and reflective of what was on the plate. It was good enough
that I forgot to even snap lame camera phone pics of the mains and only
captured the starter of ricotta dumplings in a crazy broth perfumed with salty
country ham. One day I may eventually warm up to the owners' future Vietnamese
food project too, even if it doesn't make a lot of sense on the surface.

Prime Meats. There aren't a ton of dining choices
close to 11pm on a weeknight in my now-a-memory south of Fourth Place universe.
I was curious about what pleasures an $18 1/2 lb Creekstone Farms Angus burger
might provide. More than a Guy Fieri burger created from beef of the same
origin, I hated to admit. I only stole a bite, technically a forkful meat
barely held by a wet bun because it was the tail end of the meal and the whole
thing had nearly fallen apart with texture matching my steak tartare. Prime Meats grew on me over time, though I would never crowd in for brunch.

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Sep 20

Lulu and Po

Homespun and tiny with intergenerational groups (making sure skeptical parents see the neighborhood's
charms?) breastfeeders, small plates, Vampire Weekend tempered by Marvin Gaye, no reservations, no credit cards, Lulu
and Po is pretty much a New Brooklyn stereotype, and a sweet place, nonetheless.

Maybe you've read about the bone marrow tacos? I
suspect more than few have since the vertically chopped bones with three soft
tortillas and a thatch of parsley-caper salad sat on nearly every table. They're
kind of a mess since tortillas don't absorb the fat like toasted bread does,
but I love the idea. And the accompanying house-made Sriracha was right on,
more tart, less sweet than the commercial version. I could totally see spicy
Yucatecan pickled red onions working with this too.

The wax beans in the wax and green bean dish had
been 86'd (I'm directly quoting from the chalkboard that listed that evening's
depleted items: a pork loin and said wax beans) which was ok. They were served
cold and tossed with generous hunks of
feta and jalapenos for a little non-Mediterranean intrigue.

The lightly breaded and fried anchovies were like a
Spanish bar snack (I've never had this exact thing in Spain, I'm just saying they could fit in) meaty, not greasy in the least and perked up with a
Sriracha-spiked tartar sauce.

Smaller plates dominate, but the "iron" pressed
chicken, with its nicely crisped skin, is a medium plate heavy on brown tones and still more than
sharable. It made me remember the less purist, but slightly more
attention-grabbing sweet tea-brined chicken recently eaten at St. Anselm and
now I want to try brining a Thanksgiving turkey in sweet tea.

Despite the full house on an early Saturday evening,
the service was always pleasant, never rushed. Frankly, I was surprised to have
a dish comped as thanks for accommodating a weirdo seat that was in everyone's
way. That counts for something.

Lulu and Po will more or less be in my neighborhood,
ten blocks east on Myrtle, as of tomorrow. I probably won't rely on it as a
show-off if my parents ever come to visit because roomy seating and individual
entrees are more their thing (they might like sit-down Chinese-Spanish Sapolo,
however) but I would definitely give it another go.

Lulu and Po * 154 Carlton Ave., Brooklyn, NY

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Sep 7

Eaten, Barely Blogged: Heroes and Never Ending Pasta

Defonte's With two weeks left in Carroll Gardens
(never mind that I'm only moving four miles away and have access to a car)
there are some oversights to be corrected. Though it seems farther because of
the BQE and Brooklyn Battery Tunnel entrance, Defonte's is technically only
three blocks from my apartment yet I haven't been once in eight years. Ridiculous.
So, I finally got the famous roast beef, mozzarella and fried eggplant hero, as
well as one, equally hefty with roast pork and pickled vegetables. Both seriously
filling workhorse sandwiches that I'm happy still exist in this ever rarefied
section of Brooklyn. I'm afraid I've been exposed to too many improved
versions, though, like Paesano's (scroll down) in Philadelphia (yes, weird to compare to
Philly, not NYC, but I don't eat a lot of Italian-American things on bread
here–I still haven't tried Parm either) and now I find the originals kind of
dull–or maybe just in need of a little salt or an extra condiment.

Rocky Sullivan's I didn't realize the Friday night
6-9 lobster thing they advertise starts at 6pm and means you need to be there
then, not any time in that three-hour slot. At 7:30pm, the 35 lobsters had been
spoken for. The cheeseburger and fries I consoled myself just didn't cut it.
And it must be said that if you're at Rocky Sullivan's, which is attached to
the Sixpoint Brewery, one should probably drink a Sweet Action or whatever may
be on tap, not a bottle of Bud, as suggested by possibly contrarian Sam Sifton
last week.

Olive Garden The Never Ending Pasta Bowl may not be
local or organic, but it's highly seasonal. Each August the ads appear, teasing
with the limited-time disclaimer. I'm not sure when it ends, but not much later
than Labor Day. I've written about the absurd secrecy of claiming this $9.95 promotion
in Manhattan more than once, and this still hasn't changed. You have to ask because
it's not on the menu or any signs, then will be given one big bowl (plenty
for one meal) on the first round, then subsequently smaller ones. And if you
order a drink (no making fun of my malbec) at the bar while waiting for friends
to show up, you'll get an automatic 18% tip added in. Do I look like a tourist?
Who else but an American would be at an Olive Garden on a Friday night?

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Sep 4

St. Anselm

St. Anselm was the right answer to the
which-no-reservations-restaurant-with-typically-long-waits-should-I-attempt-on-a-reportedly-sleepy-holiday-weekend
question? Which isn't to say that it wasn't bustling on a Sunday or that
Metropolitan Avenue was bereft of hanger-outers. There was, however, room for
two at the bar at 7:30pm, and holding out for a table probably wouldn't have
been more than 30 minutes but I didn't want to risk it.

There was an endless procession of burrata, tomato
and basil salads being assembled in my line of vision. Too airy and blatantly summery,
the thick stalks of pea shoots, long beans and charred halloumi was more what I
was looking for.

I really would've been tempted by the rib-eye if I
hadn't just done a semi-splurge meal the night before (I still don't know if
you can rightly call a dating anniversary an anniversary even if it's been 13
years). Instead, the New York strip steak with pepper sauce sufficed. There was
plenty of beef and nicely charred, but next time I want something bone-in.

And the sweet tea brined chicken because even though
I can't stand the candied beverage, it lends just the right amount of subtle
sugariness to the meat and maybe even helps caramelize the skin (though I'm
certain it would brown and crisp up just fine using their combo
grilled/oven-roasted approach).

Our server made me nervous when she interjected,
"About the chicken…"

Me: panicking, bracing for horrible news.

Server: "It's whole."

Me, always concerned about over-ordering: "Oh,
so it's too much food for two?"

Server: "No, it comes with the head and feet
attached."

Oh, right, I knew that. Fedora, too, was serving birds
with little scrappy feet. Frankly, I don't mind beak-to-claw dining and gnawed
on the blackened cheeks when no one was looking. The above picture is doing it,
and the rest of the food, no favors, but this is what happens when you try to
be all free-spirited and live in the moment and force yourself to leave your
real camera at home.

A bunch of professionally grilled things (there was also
a crock of lobster mushrooms involved) and a bottle of Italian rosé (I was
pretending to go along with the Labor Day is the end of summer thing–how are
you liking this cool, refreshing fall weather?) were the perfect counterpoint
to more mundane burgers on a Weber and lukewarm beers (which I enjoyed the next
day).

St Anselm * 355 Metropolitan Ave., Brooklyn, NY

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Aug 27

Eaten, Barely Blogged: Black Labels & Seafood, City & Suburban

Minetta Tavern Not-that-embarrassing-confession: I’ve never had the Black Label Burger
(though, I recently encountered a Thai burger bearing the same name) and when
you admit this, people always want to know what you thought of it. Ok, yes, it was very much not a regular burger. It was
a rich, messy and amazing burger that actually gave me a stomach ache even from
eating half. (And now I wonder if it’s just because I’m getting old and can’t
handle fatty foods because the same thing happened with pork ribs a week later.
I fear turning into my boyfriend’s mom who says things like “I like
butter, but butter doesn’t’ like me,” which sounds quainter on paper than coming out of her mouth.) I’m not a
tasting notes type, but I can still recall the flavor even if I’m having trouble articulating it (I hate it when people online describe food as “flavorful”). The meat had that fleshy, aged steak flavor I think is more musky than minerally that
you get in particular when you gnaw on a porterhouse bone to eke out all the scraps and
congealed fat. There was also a lamb special involved and it seemed unnecessary
for the server to explain what merguez is, but then the crowd was weird. It was
also the first time I’d ever seen middle-American grownups taking
photos of their food with SLRs. Also, bros who didn’t know what animal bone
marrow came from and were dismayed at the cost of hair and makeup for
bridesmaids.

Nitehawk Cinema Ok, these weren’t bad for movie theater
nachos (though chips, along with traditional popcorn, aren’t exactly the ideal
food for an environment requiring quiet). And it wasn’t ordinary queso. In
fact, the super-cinnamony chorizo and lime-heavy guacamole almost distracted
from the aggressively salty quality I look for in dishes revolving around melted
processed cheese.

Ditch Plains There was a lot of lobster in this roll, enough
to make for a surprisingly filling sandwich, though I still find the $28 price
tag tough to justify.

Extra Fancy The $12 shrimp sandwich in a split, buttered
roll and demure serving fries tucked into a paper fast food bag was certainly
cheaper than the lobster roll, but more of a snack than a meal. It’s a shame that they switched chefs so
quickly since a city can only handle so many New England and Maryland
approximations–even when well-priced and easy to score a seat on a Saturday
night.

Bonefish Grill Free birthday Bang Bang Shrimp in New Jersey
on the same night that the chain’s first NYC branch opened in Staten Island. I considered
the opening, but the charity component seemed too serious and I wouldn’t be
able to use my coupon, which was the whole point. I’m pretty sure 90% of tables
have these crispy shrimp bathed in what I’m guessing is a sauce made of
mayonnaise and Sriracha. Apparently, Bonefish now serves a lobster roll, but I’d just eaten one the night before so it didn’t seem right. For the record, it’s only $13.90.

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Jul 17

Eaten, Barely Blogged: Mexico, Spain, Brooklyn

Pampano doesn't get the attention of other newer, cooler Mexican restaurants, but it remains popular, seemingly with early-stage dates, guys who appear businesslike, and older Spanish-speaking women with younger relatives who only speak English. I was there to sample a new summer menu spotlighting ingredients from La Paz in Baja California. (I've also been before of my own volition, so this isn't totally shilly. And yeah, Richard Sandoval rivals Ducasse with his international expansion efforts, but I'm still curious enough to try a tapa or two at Toro Toro when I'm in Dubai this weekend. Ha, that's sounds hilarious, as if I'm always off to glitzy places.) Supposedly, different regions in Mexico will be featured throughout the year. The full menu is here with details, but I can say that the bacon-wrapped shrimp (is there a bad bacon-wrapped shrimp?) with a chipotle sauce, grilled pineapple and melon ball-sized rounds of avocado was the standout with its sweet, creamy and salty components. And it didn't hurt that the presentation was so pretty. An all-seafood meal, there were also smoked clams, a tamarind mahi-mahi and a tuna tamalito. The guava pastry did not contain seafood, thankfully, just fruit and Damiana, an herbal liqueur said to have aphrodisiac properties (they're not boasting that claim on the menu, though maybe it's legit since even WebMD mentions that usage for the herb).

Tapeo29 I find myself coming back here with increasing frequency. The corner bar using open windows instead of air conditioning is more Madrid than Barcelona (though both cities would let you sweat in the summer) meaning traditional, not avant-garde (I don't know the Spanish for avant-garde–de vanguardia?). Chorizo al sidra, croquetas de bacalao and boquerones aren't surprising, but they are satisfying, and before 8pm on weeknights only $6 each (plus wine and cocktails for the same price). I always leave a little drunker than intended and just full enough.

Lavender Lake I didn't try any food and, frankly, it's the kind of place I read about on blogs, or rather The Times Style Magazine, in this case, and decide that there's no need to rush over. Can I live without "Scandinavian rustic" in Gowanus? (I also refuse to give pseudo-neighborhood, Gowanus, its own category–it's two blocks from the F train.) But I didn't realize it was located on the relaxing, over-the-canal route I occasionally take home when I feel like the F is going to crush my soul so I preemptively take the R all the way to Union Street and walk the mile-and-a-quarter to my apartment. So, I had an Aperol spritz, which is dangerously close to a white wine spritzer (in spirit, not taste) and awkwardly sat by myself on a folding chair too short to reach the bar-like ledge on the back patio. At 7pm there wasn't a free table in the entire yard, which is a common phenomena and I'm certain would've been the same even an hour earlier. I'm convinced no one in Carroll Gardens actually works, despite the crazy real estate prices. Regardless, it's a pretty place, all muted tones and reclaimed wood, like a physical Instagram.

Brooklyn Ice House I have far less to say about this Red Hook bar than Lavender Lake, and yet I like it more. Thai chile sauce wings served Buffalo style (blue cheese, carrots and celery) and a pint of Sixpoint Righteous Ale don't need rehashing. Neither bar has a website, which is distressing.

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Jul 14

Fushimi

Yeah, yeah, Fushimi is garish, and I guess it's out of place in that section of Williamsburg (though not-in-my-backyard pioneers SEA and Tacu Tacu are only six blocks away) but it's hardly the sensibility-offender it's been made out to be. Anyone freaking has clearly never been to Vegas.

And just like Vegas, the customers aren't likely to be locals. With Bay Ridge and Staten Island already covered by the sushi chainlet, there is now a place for Brooklynites from all points north to enjoy glowing neon theatrics while "Big Long Dick" (I couldn't get Shazaam to work, but that's a pretty easy chorus to remember) bounces off the spot-lit walls and metallic chandeliers.

When Fushimi first opened, a friend who lives nearby suggested that we take mushrooms and check it out. I was tempered by no more than a coconut mojito on this visit, though I would not rule out the possibility of a psychedelic future excursion.

There is a Sexy Lady's Night, each Thursday, after all.

The food? Well, it's superfluous. If you frequently eat lunch-deal sashimi at uncelebrated Japanese restaurants like I do, you won't have a problem with the quality. You will be upset if Yasuda, Azabu or 15 East are in your regular rotation. The sushi and sashimi for two wouldn't have been able to compete with the decor if LED lights were not embedded in the ice.

A fried soft-shell crab with sweet-spicy Thai sauce was a perfectly fine appetizer.

I like fake crab so the kani salad filled that void with a slick of "spicy aioli," a.k.a. Sriracha-spiked thousand island dressing dotted with tobiko. Look at those little purple leaves, though. A touch that shows they're trying, right? Same with the sparse microgreens on the soft-shell crab.

The path to the bathroom feels like you're on a spaceship–if Liberace owned such a craft. I was disappointed that the lights didn't change colors, but remained electric blue.

Fushimi * 475 Driggs Ave., Brooklyn, NY

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Jun 30

Eaten, Barely Blogged: Clinton Hill Times Three

SoCo I’ve been spending time in Clinton Hill recently, trying to assess the livability of the neighborhood (I would say the prognosis is good; we put an offer on a condo yesterday). I’m not a total stranger to the area since I did work at Pratt briefly in the late ’90s (my first-ever, full-time salaried job [$22,000] which I left to work at a food website–yes, they existed 13 years ago–for $3,000 more. Everyone got laid off six months later…) but Myrtle Avenue has ten million more bars and restaurants than in my day. SoCo was the craziest (well, the booming sit-down Chino-Latino place with the name I always forget technically was) in that there was a huge crowd spilling out onto the sidewalk. More club than restaurant. But the next afternoon, the post-brunch crowd seemed mellower so I joined in, lured by the promise of fried chicken and red velvet waffles on the window menu. It’s the most popular dish, too, I was told. I would estimate that at least half of the tables had at least one plate of red waffles on it. The mash-up was far less breakfast/dinner than dinner/dessert hybrid. The sweetness was there, and pumped up by the maple syrup, but the cocoa flavor almost grounded it. You really didn’t feel like you were eating chicken and cake, just a tasty new form of fat and carbs. Lovers of unnaturally colored food and nonsensical flavor combinations will be pleased.

Speedy Romeo I love processed cheese, not just Velveeta and Cheez Whiz, but thickly sliced deli cheese, too, all extra creamy and salty. I also love Hawaiian pizza, so it’s almost as if Speedy Romeo’s Dick Dale was custom made for me. Using popular-in-St. Louis Provel cheese (a melty, processed cheese that combines cheddar, swiss and provolone) plus pineapple and smoky speck ham on a wood-fired pizza is pure genius. Adding a spoonful of pickled chiles, the restaurant’s condiment of record, provides a sharp contrast against the smoother, sweet flavors, and makes this pizza one of my all-time favorites. That is not say, all will love it, especially considering ham and pineapple is a scourge to purists, never mind the utterly un-artisanal cheese. Oh, Slice covered this very pizza this week with a nice slide show and everything–I had no idea it contained béchamel.

Putnam’s Pub It’s a gastropub, nothing out of the ordinary, but good to know about if a late night roasted bone marrow or devils on horseback (not bacon-wrapped dates here, which is the usual interpretation, but fried oyster topped deviled eggs) craving strikes.

Sunset Park Diner & Donuts I never ate here once when I lived down the street, though that’s not really a judgment of the restaurant but more about my rarely eating at diners. It’s slim pickings for post-2am dining in the area, and they do a grilled cheese with bacon deluxe, i.e. with fries, as good as anyone. The restaurant is even on Seamless, which is surprising. It almost makes me wish I still lived over there just so I could have french toast and jalapeño poppers delivered to my door at 3am.

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Posts from the ‘Brooklyn’ Category

Sapolo

Do or Dine

Eaten, Barely Blogged: Farewell to Carroll Gardens

Lulu and Po

Eaten, Barely Blogged: Heroes and Never Ending Pasta

St. Anselm

Eaten, Barely Blogged: Black Labels & Seafood, City & Suburban

Eaten, Barely Blogged: Mexico, Spain, Brooklyn

Fushimi

Eaten, Barely Blogged: Clinton Hill Times Three

Featured

Occasional Instagramming

Yes, it’s come to this

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The Past Will Haunt You

Pigeonholing 101